Note to self, part III: Screaming through Mexican traffic in a 563-hp supercar with a police escort is the coolest form of tourism on the planet.

Coffee stop.

More coffee stop.

Shamelessly derivative cockpit cues don't get much better than this.

This was someone else's map. We didn't look at ours once. Yeah, so we got lost. We also drove through random small towns with the doors up and the engine all cracklesnappopsnarl at the top of the tach and felt impossibly alive. Maps are overrated.

Nice touch.

Coffee stop again.

Do not — we repeat, not — screw with the federales. Charger or no, these guys move.